


Poppies and guilt

by Loveforthestory



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: F/M, charloe - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-23 10:03:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3763993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loveforthestory/pseuds/Loveforthestory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When season one meets season two and when Charlie is captured and Miles receives a package, this story starts. Charlie gets lost in a world of guilt and is losing herself. Bass and Miles need to find her. But when Charlie is captured, she will meet someone she did not expect. Will he help her?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A package for general Matheson

Poppies and Guilt,

Chapter one – A package for General Matheson

'Package for you General Matheson, sir.' The lower ranking officer saluted General Matheson as he acknowledged the younger man with a short nod.

Miles gave him that nod and a hand gesture to tell him to get the hell out. His stubble had touches of grey, as he had not bothered to shave. His long coat open, a deep blue shirt around him. his belt strapped around his waist, the long swords next to his leg where he could not distinguish his leg from the sword, both of them together, the sword now a part of him. It had become a way to slash people, to fight, to frown himself in battles. But it had also become the one thing to protect what he needed to. The people that were his to protect from the start, even though he had forgotten himself literally somewhere down the road of hell.

Miles sighed. The war was over, they were regrouping, taking care of their wounds, in every meaning. He had trained younger Rangers just after dawn on the large field close to their camp, he had to oversee a meeting and had been staring at papers and documents in front of him, both of his large hands on the table in front of him, in his private tent as he wondered how the hell Blanchard had got him so far to do this shit all over again. His hair dark, his eyes on the table in front of him, his boots unruly tied.

With a niece, he missed more than was he was willing to admit out loud, of for a trip north to get some stuff done for Blanchard, a brother and former partner in crime who had been a pain in the ass and driving him to hell and back with his remarks about his current girlfriend and his moody mind shifts and said girlfriend who was driving him slowly insane in different ways, he had his plate full. Was it too much to ask for everybody to leave him the hell alone in solitude and a bottle of whiskey?

He was totally ready to put his feet on this fancy table Blanchard provided for him, get some whiskey, enjoy some well earned peace and quiet before heading back to Rachel.

That was before that officer walked in and he had grabbed the package. Before he opened the parcel with an easy movement, a glass of whiskey still in hand.

The envelope was in his hand.

Something jangled and clinked in the dark brown envelope.

In his eyes he held a bracelet with red square fake stones.

They could only belong to one girl.

_His girl._

He held them in one hand, as it was the letter attached to it, that made his blood turn cold.

* * *

Her eyes went quickly through the room. And then she looked at him. As the shapes of the room came into focus.

'If it is all the same to you, I will pack my shit now and go. I have somewhere else to be. ' Tilting her head, wishing her voice had more strength. She was not going to let this man know how she felt. Which was like hell. They had beaten her up, scrambled up her body as her head was still buzzing with the blows.

He laughed, a free laugh that turned her heart cold and her body in a tensed state of readiness when the laugh turned into something more sinister.

'You know, you sound just like a friend from the past of mine. The same blazing daring challenging condescending attitude.'

The house felt out of place. The ceiling was high, the walls white. Expensive rugs on the floor in a clean sterile room as a large arch lead to another room, the wooden floors shiny and at the same time cold. Just like the feel in this house, this room. Just as his eyes.

Girls were hanging against the banister way above her. Wearing dresses that left little to the imagination. They were looking at her, like she was the newest spectacle, and this, was a lazy drawing out of steps to come they knew so well.

The man before her, tall, dark. His dark hair was accompanied by dangerous eyes. She had spent the past hours travelling, as three men had ambushed her. She had fought, struggled but a cloth with something in it over her nose had made it impossible to fight anymore. She was a long way from home. Or the people that made that basis for her. She had gone on a trip with Rangers, north because she couldn't think anymore of what lay behind. Of what she had done. One moment, one small town. A day behind her like the rest. Hours on the road, doing what she could to raise the people back on their feet after fighting and despair. One moment, one small town, and hands that were not supposed to grab her. One moment, one small town, hands that grabbed her and the lack of his presence as a painful reminder how much he was not there this time. How two swords did not save her this time.

'So, you are saying you are turning down my hospitality?' His voice had a contained kind of shiver in it, that she knew this man could break her in a second, like a shift in the air when a storm approached.

There it was, the shift. She could feel it coming as he approached her.

She stood there, as she felt the bruises under her tank. Missing the belt they stripped from her, missing her knife, her crossbow, her weapon. Feeling completely too exposed even with her clothes on, her jacket still around her shoulder, her hair clinging to her forehead. Her mind racing if they knew her. And how they found her. Looking for exits, looking for a plan out, just like Monroe had taught her. Think first, act, fire, blaze. Never give up. And if it is them or you, it is them. He could hear him say it as he was pissed at her once, as she had walked straight into danger.  _Fuck Charlie, don't you ever think?_ Eyes filled with rage, but also with something else that shook her to her core.

Dangerous eyes stepped closer. No crazy eyes, crazy eyes she realised as she kept her face firm and he come standing half next to her.

'I have to tell you a little secret.' His whole posture turning into a giddy explosion of a cat stalking its prey. His voice slow, his sickening breathing like he was touching her without touching her close to her ear. 'Your uncle and I, we have some unfinished business.'

He touched her hair, a finger going over the lines of her neck.

'And I think you, could be exactly what I need for some..' he was almost panting in her neck, ' settling of that debt.'

Charlie swallowed something away in disgust as she felt him touching her. She had her pride, her strength to not move an inch, because she knew that was exactly what he wanted, he craved.

The girls from upstairs walked down the stairs slowly.

'These are Amber and Theresa.' The crazy guy nodded. 'They will talk care of you, love.'

The two girls walked her way as Charlie watched him with anger, rage and disgust. Her eyes still scanning the door to get out here.

He was almost on the steps that let up to a higher part of the room before he turned around.

He chuckled. 'Well now, I forgot something, but what,' he looked at her as a mock frown appeared in his forehead, he stood before her again.

'Oh yes, I remember,' in one strike he moved, one flash, as he put his right fist in her face, knocking her of her feet. She could feel Miles, somewhere far away. Miles, Bass. No one was here, no one knew she was even here and as she went down, somehow they were on her mind. Bass. Miles. Miles.

She felt the warm sting on her cheek before hands grabbed her of the floor.

The guy left. Walked to his men on the other side of the room as he had something in his hand. Something he threw to the smaller guy on his right, who was standing close to a table. A bracelet. The stones in it catching a ray of sun. She could only hear his voice faintly.

'Send this to General Matheson. Tell him Drexel sends him his best.'

* * *

_Hey everyone, as I told you with another story, I am rewatching season one. And it gives me so much new inspiration. This story meets season 1, and season two. Thank you for reading! Love from Love_


	2. Guilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles has received a package. Charlie is captured as the story continues in chapter two. Thanks for the amazing reviews for chapter one.

Poppies and Guilt,

Chapter two - Guilt

Charlie woke up, blinking her eyes. Her room was large, with high windows. A high bed, clean sheets. It was almost luxurious. Glamorous like she had once heard girls say.

It was nothing to her.

Amber and Theresa, had filled her tub. She had taken a bath. Had to wear something she did not want to wear. They had left her alone. Until they hadn't.

Drexel walking in again. Enjoying the face of Miles Matheson when he got his little delivery.

She had been up for 24 hours and her wanting to stay awake did not work anymore. So she had slept, in the bed, missing her weapons beside her. Feeling naked.

Stalking through the room. Drexel. His name was Drexel. Her mind was scraping through the bits of information she had. Drexel. House. Windows. One door. Miles. There was a connection with Miles. A sting for missing him so much, swirling panting inside her chest because he did not know he was here. She was here, isolated. Alone.

Drexel.

'Is is such a beautiful day, don't you think love?'

No answer, he was not getting anything out of her.

He stepped closer. He slowly caressed the bruise, from his hand, on her cheek.

'I'm sorry about that.' His weight pressed against her left breast. She felt trapped.

She tried to get up, but the bruises, exhaustion and thirst made her hiss and without strength. A memory of what they did to her, how they caught her, still lingering inside, still preying on her power to fight back. She clenched her teeth to hush the hiss. Still not wanting him to show anything of her weak spots.

He was not touching her, besides her cheek, but the violotion was there anyway. It was disgusting and overwhelming.

His breathing too close. And for one second she realised with some distance, her mind doing a funny trick on her in total agony and adrenaline, that this is what would have happened if Bass had not gotten her out of that bar. Magnifying what he did for her. What he saved her from.

He was not here.

'Did your momma not tell you to be polite to the people who are nice to you?' His voice had that playful danger in it again, the one that made her almost want to retch.

No answer. Don't answer him.

'Don't worry love, I won't do anything to you yet. I normally don't hit woman.'

He caressed her again, with filthy eyes that raked over her body.

'But here is the thing, love, you are not a woman. Here, you are nothing. Not even Miles' Matheson's whore.'

There, the shift again. His voice cold.

' We are going to make sure you are going to forget who you are, that you exist.'

Charlie eyes were firing at him. Asshole. Rage started to bubble. Think, act, fire, blaze. The words that were there were fuelled by her uncle. By Monroe. By her own strength. Her mantra to kick her way out of this.

'And I don't have to force anything on you, because can't you see love,' he touched her again, her arm, his voice sickening low and like a cat stalking its prey, 'you will beg for it.'

'When your uncle comes for you, and oh love, he will come for you, he will see nothing but a cheap addicted little whore in the corner of the room.'

Charlie watched from the corner of his eyes how there was a syringe in his hand. Fight now. No. She tried to, but he pushed her back.

'Shhh, shhh,' Drexel said, like he was comforting her, ' now you lay still for me, it will all be over soon. I'll check on you later.'

She struggled, tried to grab his face, push him away, grab anything that could be the start of her fighting herself a way out of here.

'We all have our weak spots, and I'll bet we will find yours soon.' His voice cold.

The needle broke through the defence of her skin, as she watched how it disappeared right under the skin of the inside of her elbow, where her upper arm met her lower arm.

Charlie's eyes flew open more wide. Her heart beating faster, as she struggled. Her mind screaming no but at the same time asking for Miles, Bass.

Did she say them out loud?

_No._

But then the No turned into a whole lot of perfect soft flowing warmly through her body  _Yes_.

* * *

Connor had enough. Enough of his father's incomplete promise that became an invisible chain between both men to talk about, work towards, share a common thing when the years passed had left them with thousands of miles between them. He had enough of feeling uprooted. Enough of people who say one thing, then do another.  _Emma, Nunez. His dad._

Power, more. It has been a red orange strip on the horizon

You are a Monroe. The Republic should be yours to lead.

Once said in the dusk of a small nobody Town in Mexico.

You are a Monroe. You were destined for this. It's yours.

It had all crashed down that night with the train. Where Tom Neville stoke up the fire of cold hate and anger written deep inside of him. The anger that wanted to deliver blow after blow, the rage that pushed everything else out. Even the people he cared for.

After Neville had taken a turn left on road crazy, Connor had gotten the hell out. Leaving him behind beaten and bloody after a struggle with the older man. There was nowhere for him to besides that one place. That one guy from his past. He had walked, drank, fucked. And he had come here.

Drank and fucked some more. Plenty of girls who were more than willing. A simple line in Spanish, a wink of his eyes. It made him feel like his old self. Problem was, the shimmer had broken off. It did not feel right anymore. He could not care less. Whiskey and fucks made him care less.

He walked into the living room, down the couple of steps to the lower part. There were some weapons on the small table to his right. A gun, a knife. Hands in his pockets he walked towards the coffee table.

'So Connor, amigo,' the darker man said, handing him a glass, 'you enjoying my house again?'

Connor sat down on the couch in the middle of the room. Connor drank from his glass, swallowing the drink, raising the glass to him in a toasting gesture.

'Ah, you know I do.' He smiled his cocky smile.

The other guy smiled.

'You look upbeat today?' Connor said, tasting the drink again.

'Oh, I am expecting an answer to some letters I wrote.' The guy said, with a grin and a crazy turn in his eyes that only lasted a second. He handed Connor the bottle.

The bottle. He remembered. Sometimes little moments seeped through. A dark night, a raid on a camp, fires. His dad handing him the bottle with a proud smile. Son to father. Father to son.

It seeped through. Connor's face changed. It could not seep through. A girl, with a tiny dress walked in. With the girl he walked out. He walked up the three stairs in the living room. Swallowing the last of the glass down while he placed the glass down on the table to his left. And if he had looked to his left again, he would have seen two bracelets he remembered. A weapon belt. It could not seep through. He needed to not feel this. He needed a distraction. The glass left behind on the table, close to the weapon belt.

* * *

Bass Monroe looked into fire in front of him. A bottle in hand. A broken promise of a family that just not was supposed to be his. Maybe this was his punishment. For fucking everything. A family. Ripped apart and away from him. Again and again. His son's face in his hands, the fire lighting upthe younger man's eyes and jawlines and the raid behind them. His eyes were still, staring. He sighed, pushed himself up from the place he had burned his time and booze with.

He walked towards Miles and when he walked with that bottle to share with his buddy into his tent, he saw Miles, his large back turned against him so he could not see his brother's eyes. Miles ripped the things on his desk apart.

With one big angry sweep he wiped the desk clean.

This time he could see Miles' eyes. They were filled with anger, despair and the start of tears. The bottle forgotten, the plans for the night forgotten.

Bass' eyes were darker, standing there in boots, two weapons on his belt, his gun strapped against his back and his leather jacket, his face in one torn dark line. His mouth open.

Before he could open his mouth Miles looked at him, with a letter and something that his mind connected to someone fast.

'Drexel has Charlie.'

* * *


	3. Feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poppies and Guilt,
> 
> Now that Charlie is captured, and Drexel has her, Bass walked into Miles' tent, as both men learn what this news does to them.

Poppies and Guilt

Chapter three - Feeling

With one angry enraged sweep he pushed everything of the desk in front of him as his eyes held thunder. Tears were poking his eyes, as he smothered a huff of air that was about to come out.

Miles fought stubbornly, keeping the tears at bay as things clattered onto the ground. His girl. Charlie. Images of a young girl whose feet did not even make it over the edge of the couch, little boots, her largest pride, on the couch in Ben's and Rachel's living room, Ben asking from the kitchen counter if she wanted more candy. The pink one. Fit for princesses. 'You want some more Sweetheart? Ben's voice. God Bejnamin.

Now Rachel was not at home, she had the three of them wrapped around her finger, Bass, him and Ben. She loved it, and hell, they loved it.

Now going to the beautiful woman she become, and who put giving second, on third, and fourth chances from a concept to action with her stubborn way she brought him back, and not just him. The love and loyalty who made the camp out there more empty with missing smart mouth and that bright big mouth smile of hers.

'What's wrong?' Bass voice scraped through the tent. God, did not even know what was wrong, but that face. God, he had seen it a couple of times, neither of one he wanted to remember now. His brother rarely showed his cards like this and it made him rush with anger and contained fear for what was next.

He heard Miles, but somehow his mind was in override.

Drexel has Charlie.

Miles looked unsure, going through the tent, his eyes going to Bass in a much softer deep brown than normal.

'The son of a bitch has her, Bass.' He almost yelled, this time with more agony.

Bass looked in shock.

Drexel. That son of a bitch. Images of what it was like to see other man around her. That bounty hunter daring to touch her with his stupid smile, as he moved back her jacket to tend to her wound. He had to bite his inside cheek to get his rage under control.

A Charlie that was being harmed flying through his mind as he demanded to himself to stay the fuck in control. Don't get carried the fuck away. That bar. Pottsboro. Gould. Even though she never thanked him, even though every fucking thing that has happened after he told himself he did not care. Well, he fucking did. He knew what Drexel did. He knew the madness and easiness he destroyed girls with, in a second. Pumped them full with drugs. His mouth was dry, his heart beating stronger in his chest.

He walked over to Miles, the letter from Drexel in his hand. He took it. Read it.

'Son of a bitch...' He grumbled, while reading.

Dammit. He looked to Miles, his brother's face looking so damn in pain, Charlie's bracelet in his hand. He could not stand it. If people thought Miles cared for Rachel, they had a thing coming because he knew Charlie, Charlie was everything to his best friend.

Miles would tear the world apart, turn around, go back and do it all over again for her.

'Well, all right, I' grab my shit, we will get her.' Bass said, pissed, worried and determined, as he tried to find eye contact with Miles. His voice lower and softer, giving his voice even more strength while his yes shot cold fire as he already was thinking about how they would end Drexel. He could feel his fingers flex, like he was already crashing the guys wind pipe. His voice promising reassurance to his brother, a promise to Charlie and a intent of kill, him, and whoever the fuck was there to stand in his way.

'You're not coming.' Miles said.

'Excuse me?' Bass shoot him a the hell I am look.

'You're not coming Bass.'

' You are kidding right? You have got to be fucking kidding me right?' he spread his arms in a frustrated way.

'Bass, that girl, she...' Miles yelled in outrage for the fact he could not reach her this very moment, ' We both tear everything apart, Drexel will have a field day when he realises you are there too. And Blanchard, he will go fucking crazy when we both leave.'

Bass stood right in front of Miles, looking sharply at him with eyes darker and his neck exposed. Strong, willing.

'One, fuck Blanchard. I don't give a fuck about that old fuck and his kinks.'

'Two, I can do whatever the hell I want, it has always been like that.'

'You are my best friend, and I won't let you go alone.' He smacked Miles on the back of his head, 'I know you have some troubles with that concept.'

Then his eyes got darker, he swallowed something away.

Bass shoved two fingers into Miles' direction, missing his chest by an inch.

'Hey, you are not the only one who cares about her, huh,' Bass grunted with a sharp warning tone.

Both man looked at each other. Miles could go fuck himself, he would come.

Miles just nodded, silent tears in his eyes.

'All right, I'll grab my shit. Let's get Charlie.' His voice was salting, his eyes ready for a fight.

* * *

Charlie sat in a chair. Your uncle...your uncle... The one by the window. Loosing time. She had learned to keep track of the days. Three days. No. Maybe she was wrong. They came back for her, every now and then. Her fingers going over the skin of her arms.

'ahh,' a small hiss. The skin getting punctuated with dark red turning into blue spots. Drexel had not touched her anymore. The girls made her baths. She ate, but somehow eating was not becoming important anymore.

Miles. He knew she was here. The one point she could hang into, although she did not know the why of it. But it gave her the strength to move forward. Although that point become more blurr with every day that disappeared. Alongside a piece of her.

The same ritual. Bathing, eating, the syringe. The no lasting a bit shorter and the turning into warm perfect soft flowing warmly through her body yes a bit more welcome every time they came into the room and left again.

She was left alone.

The pieces were placed on the board.

But somehow the threat of thatplacing of pieces on the board made her shiver. The worse was yet to come.

Then her mind edged out again.

Life outside her door lived on.

'..you don't even think. Your instincts just kick in.' A man. A man with an easy and a bit overconfident flirtation in his voice. A girl giggled.

She was almost there with the connection of the voice to the face made.

But then it did not matter anymore.

She sat in a chair, the one by the window.

* * *

Bass and Miles moved out. Rachel was not in Austin, so was Gene. No goodbye , just a message in words to an officer who would give word when they would come back.

He patted Miles on the back when his brother was staring pathetically to Rachel's cot like something was going to appear them.

'Rachel will get the message Miles.' He sounded restless, they had to get this shit on the road. He pulled his crap over his shoulder, ready to do.

Miles nodded.

'Come on man, she is a sweet girl and all, ' and a manipulative let's leave my kids at the side of a road, yeeh, Charlie told him all about that when he walked in with Miles in one of her matches shouting with Rachel, and I'll jam a screwdriver in my friend's chest and do some more things I need to do for myself, when being a holier than tou bitch, 'but she is out with the old doc. Let's get the fuck out of here and get Charlie.'

He watched. Miles straitened his back. And the old misery, the guilt, it all was flocked into his body.

They walked. Made long days. Night had fallen.

Bass sat across from Miles around their small makeshift fire.

They were talking. Just them. No hysterical psycho girlfriends. No fucked up jokes from Blanchard. And without her here, he could see the shift in Miles, he could see Miles move into a place of his own. More relaxed, more his own.

Time moved back, as two boys sat across a fire burning marshmallows and talking about gross bugs crawling in the dirt at their feet.

'I let her down, so many times Bass.'

Bass pressed his lips together. He did not have to tell him, because he could still listen to Miles, even when the stubborn mule was not talking. He knew his guy.

He had his back. He once said his bullshit was his. And he meant it.

'We will get her Miles. We'll make that son of a bitch pay.'

Long silent distance lay behind them, as they were halfway on the point from Austin to Drexel's mansion. They set up camp near an old cot of a rundown shabby thing that had barely four walls erected.

'What if we are too late.' Miles voice raised in insecure, one he never showed, because he was the big brother, he was Miles Matheson, but somehow found the courage to let go with Bass around. Worry higher, frustration, love, still too many ground between him and Charlie.

'We won't.' It was a rough statement, one he needed so very fucking much to believe himself too.

Fire. And a guilt a third companion sitting with them.

Bass thought about what the hell happened if he had been there for her, just a little fucking more. Somehow on their mercenary spree that got them to Duncan, after that, he had closed off. Pushed her out. Been an ass. Watched his kid go walk over to her, to talk to her when Miles went missing on day two. When he wanted to. He fucking wanted to. But the bitch from hell had gotten under his skin an a lonely road near a crack and the image of her with his kid pushing him to disbelieve, rage, shock and then she could not exist there like she used to do.

After Austin. After the shock in his eyes. After the blood on her top. God, they had been fools. Making her go stubbornly on her own, telling everyone she was fine. Of course she was not fine. God dammit.

'Fuck Bass, what the fuck would have happened if we wouldn't have made it to Philly?'

The first time he let his hand go over the dust on a large wooden desk, clearing the dark wood in a soft spot of promising more.

A memory.

And the day they got Jeremy out of that fight.

What would have happened.

It did not matter.

All that mattered now was Charlie.

When you know each other for so long, when you made a vow to be blood brothers, it happens, even if you don't want to. Even when you tried to kill it, break it. It won't ever leave you alone. Even in silence, their thoughts were mingling across the fire. Not speaking, not because the truth did not justify something to do, to shove things in each other's faces, but because it was the kind thing to do.

* * *

Charlie sat in the chair. The one close to the window. She had no idea what time it was anymore. The thing, she thought it could be heroin, they shot into her arm, as red source of what was in her syringe was outside the window, melded the aging dull feeling with soft surrender. She hardly ate, she noticed with some weird distance that her clothes felt differently among her body.

Bass close to Miles, when he looked up and found her in the middle of his conversation, his eyes burning, the little lines of his eyes moving just a bit, when she felt a gust of wind and time that did not matter, as he held her eyes, making her feel like she maybe could disappear somewhere against his chest, with heart pounding and bodies searching, even when he did not stop talking with Miles.

Miles, his warm stubble, the scent of his warm chest, the hint of grey in the hair closest to his temple, against the top of her head. Standing next to Maggie, Danny. Making sure she was all right, when she slammed her arms around his neck when the watch tower collapsed and he had not left her behind. He came back.

He came back too. Once. When things mattered. Bass. With big almost thrusting eyes. The gentleness but with a fort of so much hurt around it. So tall, the lines and sweat and veins of his arms before her, as his shirt clung to his chest, in a way that she could almost see him right before her. Maybe she even stretched her arm out. As the memory moved into the room. And his absence in the room, made her want to cry.

Things mattered not anymore.

But she sat in a chair. The one close to the window.

* * *

 

Bass stepped in when he moved out of the line of trees. Miles knew he would be there. He was not surprised. He was pissed. They had made a plan, he would go this last part alone.

Of course the stupid asshole did not listen. Miles narrowed his eyes as Bass stepped beside him, a grin on his face.

He was scared.

But they would get Charlie.

And Bass would be right there.

The sound of a gun cocking, as Bass hands moved subtly around his weapon woke him up. Put him into the mode where he had to be this man again, to slash, to kill.

But for her. For her.

Hold on Charlie. Hold on.

And as Connor was laying over a girl, him laughing while caressing a little nook on her neck.

Hold on Charlie. Hold on.

And as Charlie sat there, losing the fight of remembering somebody would get to her in another room.

As Bass walked next to Miles, when they had their target in sight. No idea, that the son on his mind would be there too, as faith would bring them in one spot together.

Hold on Charlie. Hold...

Drexel stood on his balcony. It stretched out all around the house. The glory of the old steal painted white framework under him. His eyes went over the gates that enclosed his estate. Mansion. Yes, he liked that better. The day was grey, but his mood was bright. He had the girl. He had a guy that came here by coincidence. The guy he could use as a fun unexpected element. The guy that did not know about the girl. They guy that slipped he was the son of the great Sebastian Monroe to one of his girls, like that would magnify his dick by ten inches on the spot.

He would come. And if he would come, to other would come to. He smiled.

'Ah yes, children, this is a good day.'

Dots of red in the landscape. Bushes around the steps that lead to a square. Grass, close to an old beige jeep where he loved to play some game with guns and people going shit crazy

He would go inside, eat something, drink something. Fuck something. Theresa would do tonight.

His eyes narrowed. Looking at the horizon.

All fun and games children.

All fun and games.

So, writing his story, which is darker than my usual stories, it is about guilt. I know some of you wonder how much will happen to Charlie, but I want to say, if I write something like that, I will always warn you. This is more about that threat, that shadow, and I've decided that is enough.

In next chapter, Bass and Miles will be at the Mansion. Charlie. Drexel.

Hope to meet you there, as I am loving writing this for you, after receiving so many kind reviews. I love knowing you are still there. I read them all with fondness. You all are so very great.

Love from Love


	4. Save

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the great reviews! I know this story has a hard edge and Charlie's part is hard to read. The story build up to this chapter, Today the story turns, and Charlie...help is on the way! This story was about guilt, about hers, his, Miles'. But this story is also about something else. About the people..
> 
> People that truly see you, when you can't see yourself anymore.

Chapter four- Save

No matter how hard other people tried to do so otherwise, sometimes your own strength surprises even you.

Charlie looked outside. Her chair had been her new kingdom, her new all that mattered. Her body was not strong enough for anything else. Somehow, they were still not crudely satisfied, an image of Miles on his way here and her worry for him, for what could happen to him, because of her, somehow she was still too strong, because she heard the whispers outside the door that Drexel was coming in himself today. Little flashes broke through. Miles, god, Miles. She was remembering him, like a sharp image from her brain before that memory would flip away, leaving her empty and at loss for the image she was not quite able to catch. She remembered his smell sometimes, like a crude reminder how he had been there many sleepless night. Bass' jacket, the sound it.

His insults, that had become a normal banter, once she had figured out it was almost like the easy banter he fell in with Miles. It was his way of connection, of letting her know she was there, on that side with him, with Miles.

And in between the memories of Aaron, even her mom sometimes, b more Miles. Miles, the guilt of Jason, of who he was, who he could have been for her, or maybe what was, a bound of two people, lost in their word where parents should have been parents, not the confusing mix of feeling like they did when they were around them. Maybe that was what brought them together. Together with a love that was so innocent.

Another sigh of a memory that burned, torturing her, before it moved back to the rim of her brain.

She was a fighter. 

But the memory of Jason, that guilt, made her feel more that maybe this was what she was destined for. Slip away, quietly, let the grieve and hurt and pain and loss and guilt win. Although it was not so much about winning, but about believing that this was all that was.

Her arm hurt. Her right arm had a brand. Her left endless attacks on her, with a substance that raked through her body and who she was.

The door opened.

Sometimes your own strength did surprise you.

Because when Drexel came in, and she was moved a level below this level in the house, she knew that maybe, he was not getting what he wanted. And he had to make things worse.

Worse because. Because... she could not see it now, but her stubborn quietness had contained so much Matheson strength, that the content of the syringe shot in her blood, could not move out that Matheson strength that was flowing in there too.

Strength can surprise you.

And sometimes you don't know it, but right there, at that moment, where your brain still needs to catch up, the seed of resistance is planted again.

Today will be the day.

The chair now empty, alone. In front of that window.

**Mansion Drexel, northwest corridor**

His brain anchored the knife, the gun, the weapon belt. When he saw her, they did.

She looked up at him. And his whole face, his whole body, being, dropped. They had been many things, but not in love. That one thing that they were, they were only twice. Vegas. And one time later, when her heart and passion had not been in it. After a heated discussion where she had pulled his dad back, not afraid to put a defensive hand on his arm, but another hand, that maybe he had only witnessed on the leather of his back, things had been over.

Silent observing told him where that angry passion did lay. He had seen it.

When sixpack had showed up he had been jealous, irritated. When he had seen a Miles dragging Charlie alongside with him, and both Monroe men were slowly feeling, seeping in, what she had to do, his heart had felt for her. It really had. It made him search for her when Miles had been missing, although he had never ever spend one second looking for him with the psycho lady, Charlie and his dad.

And maybe Neville and Matheson believed his dad had stopped the whole revenge trip to Washington just because of Miles Matheson near that train.

He hadn't.

He had seen the desperate hungry pathetic look on his dad's face, when he had looked up, searching for Charlie. He had been angles so that he could see them botch.

But he did. That dark almost angry look on his dad's face that got quickly replaced by those stupid endless looks. And Charlie, she had been there, an almost invisible nod towards his dad, her breath trembling, a softer gratitude in her eyes. Maybe she believed her hate for this man had been all that been there.

He hadn't.

But Charlie had carved something inside of him with a force that was permanent, like the last memory he had of his mom.

And Connor stood almost face to face with her, realising she had been here.

He could see her forming his name in her mind, but fuck, her eyes, so empty. So was thin, too thin, and she was stripped of not only her weapons, but also of what made her her. Charlie. That smart, strong, not like the girls at home, blazing, fighting in her blood, an almost Mona Lisa Smile around her lips.

Drexel walked up to him, passing Charlie like she was some kind of cargo that was not even worth much of his time on. He felt the two men coming up from behind. He wanted to reach for her, because this was the girl that had stayed in Vegas, to get their asses out, and you did not walk away from her, after she did that. Her strength demanded the dark to subside for a second, and wanting to fight.

'Ah, not so fast amigo,' Drexel said, relaxed, like he was not destroying and deciding over lives. One of his men came up behind Connor, placing his dirty fingers into Charlie's cheek. ' A fine connoisseur like yourself does not want to spoil this beauty right.'

He looked at Connor, who's darker eyes and huffing of angry air while jaws locked, just like his father, at the sight.

'And all that time, she was right here, Connor. My friend.'

Connor pushed the me away from his shoulder, insulted how he was treated.

'Grab him,' Drexel said darkly, but still with that lazy tone like he was not really caring. But his eyes, glistering with anticipation were sickening in the half light of this dark hallway.

Drexel looked at the pathetic created mini version of an dictator. 'It's sweet, all that anger, a little version of your daddy.'

'What did you to her?' Connor asked, rough dark voice with concern as he looked at Charlie.

'Anything I want to do.'

Connor got sick at what those words could imply.

'Like...' he demanded a weapon from one of his men as Connor watched how he pointed it behind Charlie, about to end her life, ' ...this.'

'Drexel!' Connor yelled, his voice bellowing through the small corridor.

The shallow sound of the gun was next.

Nothing happened, the gun was empty.

Connor watched Charlie tremble.

And then, Drexel started to laugh.

'Okay, I love to play around some more children, but we,' he looked at Charlie, 'Have somewhere to go.'

Connor felt hands grab him even harder.

'You son of a ...' Tall brute guy knocked him in the stomach.

'What, you can't take a joke?'

He watched how Charlie did not even fight, and, after the shock, he felt anger flexing through his features.

'And besides junior, daddy will be here any second. Let's go to the foyer and organize a little welcoming party for him, shall we?'

'Escort tiny dictator out of here,' He said to his men who held Connor tightly as they disconnected him from his look on Charlie.

'Daddy will be here soon. Ah the fun we will have. I have something special in mind for the both of you.'

As Connor tried to shove them of, he was moved into another room as the words from Drexel tried to make sense. His dad. Here. And he, trapped in a world of wanting to do what he should do, and that angry dark painful hurt that moved over everything else.

'Get her to the basement. We don't want to make it too easy for Miles, do we now love.'

**In the line of trees, just out of sight.**

Bass looked at the Mansion ahead. Bass looked at Miles.

They wanted to be many things, they could be only one. To be strong for her.

Miles raised a brow, as they were side to side, on their stomachs, junk too close near rocks, reading the surroundings to get as much as they needed from their vantage point. Fence work, guards. One open window he was definitely too old for to climb into.

'Ah buckle up tiger, you'll make it.' Bass smirked at him.

'Shut up you moron.' Miles quipped back.

Miles looked at the house, the stupid ass over the top mansion in the middle of red in the grass. That asshole always had a movie star feeling for drama. If these days there were Oscars for tackiness, the guy would take the win home.

He cocked his weapon, as Miles did the same. He knew where his weapons were, as silent companions, the same knifes he had murdered through a whole bar with to get to her. They would do same now, with everybody between here and the moment they all would walk out again. With Charlie.

Charlie. Somehow he could almost see her, here with them, as they would scream at her to cover their asses, and she would curse, look pissed, but still do just that, and would be fucking firing at it. That girl would come back, dammit. She would.

**Inside the Mansion, as the light is fading outside through the trees**

They had gotten her, out of the chair.

'We have a surprise for you love.' His smell rotting, his scruff adding to the rough dark exterior. And just a piece of her heart told her, that if that was going to happen, that was because she was still not meeting his lines of what he wanted. And if he had to step up his game, that meant she was still holding. Stepping up hers. A thought that flowed out easily but somehow got stuck.

She was walked outside the rom.

White walls, with smooth wallpaper which structure played with her eyes as it went on in her mind. His men around her. Other people walking as on a crossroad of things before, she heard a voice. And saw him. Tall, dark, a jacket on, his shirt a bit open, a cocky stance.

'Ah, not so fast amigo,' Drexel said, as somehow the guy tried to reach her. A man from behind stepped in with filthy rancid breath as he dug into the skin of her cheeks, grabbing her face like it did not belong to her body.

The moment he stepped towards her, and he saw the man damaging her even more, he stopped, his eyes furious.

Her mind was in overdrive. And then she knew who was there.

_Connor._

Connor.

Her mind was forming the word.

'Grab him.' Connor struggled. She didn't. More struggle would mean more.

Drexel used her to stop Connor.

Devilish games were played, when she heard the sound of something she experiences before, Connor facing her.  _Drexel. Children. Daddy. You can't take a joke._

It was spinning, as time would not fall into order.

And then she was moved, Connor was moved. The one thing that reminded her of herself, him, them.

Charlie saw the floor. As light was now shut out completely as the cellar door closed. They had not touched her, they never did. She was treated like a piece he needed in his game. She huddled herself in the far corner where it was even more dark. Dark was good. Dark meant they could not see her.

Charlie saw the floor. For now light streamed in as a door opened. A figure walked in. She intuitively huddled deeper into her corner. Another figure walked in.

'Oh dear god.' She heard.

**Top floor, Drexel's Mansion.**

Both men with weapons in their hands, one wrapped around the other, as they held the trigger close where it had been so many years. Bass thumb was caressing the side of his weapon and the trigger too, as all the hardness in his body was ready. Walking slowly, boots hitting the carpet without a sound. Ready for the kill. Both men nodded. They did a sweep from the floors. The loop of the guns in first.

As the moved down, there was only one level.

One level they knew the asshole was crazy enough to have her.

Bass watched how Miles closed his eyes for a second before the cellar door. He stood close, his jaws pressed together, his moustache around his mouth.

They were bracing himself, he could feel it. But the trained Marine in them both kept them going. Any second they waited was a second she might not have.

Miles had his hand on the door as Bass nodded, covering them.

**Balcony on the first floor, Drexel's Mansion.**

Drexel walked past Connor.

'Ah, it is such a sunny day, let's get some fresh air, shall we.' He looked to Connor. Connor tilted his head. Another betrayal, another man. He had believed it again, the identity given by shallow feeling of power, control.

He stood there, his eyes with a hint of sadness that anyone who knew Emma Bennett could recognise. But more so, lost, pissed.

'What? Don't want to go?' Drexel pouted, while he took slow praying steps towards Connor. ' Life is hard right, Connor.' He spat the word out as a curse word.

He nodded to his men, who pushed Connor of the stairs, and into the small courtyard before the house. He knew Miles and Monroe were here. Let them come.

'Your daddy will be very disappointed Connor.'

Connor looked at him pissed.

'You had his girl here, and did not do one thing. Daddy is not going to be happy at all.' He made a disapproving sound with a click of his tongue.

Connor looked at him with a hint of shock now.

'Ah you did not know I did not hear of the rumours right?' Drexel said, darkly, teasingly amused.

He grinned, to nobody in particular, giddy.

'Ah yes, a sunny day indeed.' He smiled to himself, as his dark eyes raked over the landscape, dots of poppies as he enjoyed the puppy guilt face on the younger man, as Connor's shadow was as dark as his curls.

**With Miles, down in the house**

Her heart recognised him. But the month, weeks, days, she had spend here, made her wonder if he was him. If she was her. The deepest nook of the corner, she moved more into the corner, in the dark of shame, and nothingness and the cloud of heroin all in her body that was hugging her. It was wearing of, and she needed more. Drexel had tore her tank, had removed her pants, and had stopped then. Her skin felt numb with cold.

Miles saw the straw like hair first, falling over her, shielding her from him. Her chin, too defined, almost on her knees. He nodded towards Bass, as sounds over their head caught their attention. Bass nodded at Miles, while his heart was screaming for Charlie. But Miles had her now. He would make sure he could carry her away from herd. He pushed his lips together, pointed the gun in front of him and walked upstairs. Miles would take care of their girl.

Focus now. They had her.

'Hey kid,' He was trembling.

Charlie moved back. With every step the man took, she curled up more in the corner, the stone and floor grinding against her skin.

Kid.

Home.

She saw grey streaks in a dark stubble beard. She could sense his chest, his warm smell, where she would bury her face and nose and let him hold her.

She knew him.

Miles fought tears, as he watched what Drexel did to his girl. She was skinny, filthy, cold, He crouched down.

'Kid, it's me. I'm taking you home now okay?' he tried to sound firm. To stay in control.

'No',  _she muttered. Don't touch. Don't acknowledge me. Don't._

It almost broke through. Almost.

The lack of drugs was buzzing in her mind.

Miles sat there, his hands trembling, wanting to hold his kid, Ben's kid, his love for her now pure and the same. His eyes going over her, over the room, listening to the sounds, taking in their surroundings. He had her. She was safe now. God help him if he found Drexel.

**A little while later, outside Drexel's gates.**

Bass looked around him. Drexel's men were dead. The house silent. The person he had expected least on the other side of the gate. His darker eyes and harsh face on him. Bass swallowed, and then saw a wagon approaching. He recognised the old man. He let out a sigh. The Porters were here. And as much he did not care for Rachel to be here, other than the fact that maybe, and that was a big maybe, she could be there for Charlie, they needed doc.

He turned from the gate, his eyes now on the old man and Rachel.

'Follow me.' He ordered, not giving a fuck about anything else than help for her, he said with a scratchy voice.

They moved into the house, towards the two people on his mind while he felt the stare of Connor.

He had her, her weight in his arms. Charlie pressed herself in the nook that was Miles. But then she heard more voices and the noises were too much. More people streamed into the room. Or did the voices just reach her.

'Charlie?' A woman's voice. A high voice, a voice that was familiar, but brought also so much hurt with her.

With the drugs there, the boundaries of the walls and what she could take were gone too.

They could not see her. They could not.

Knowing for sure she did not want her here to see.

Bass had a blanket, grabbed from the old man's wagon, for Charlie. He walked inside the dark musky cellar room, with clammy moist air.

He saw her, in the corner and fuck, it hurt him so damn much. The moment she looked up, and not see him, realising she had always looked straight at him, no matter how much rage, hate or pissed off at him she was, he looked at her the same way as he did in Austin. Shock, his mouth falling open. The light causing a nook in the dark, from open door. She was so fucking thin, her eyes bloodshot, tired, the shimmer that was Charlie gone.

He swallowed, felt the rage boil. And then he felt nothing but care. For her. He would do anything it took to be there for her. He looked at Miles.

He would wrap both his arms around those two people, the people, that were his family most.

She started to panic. To struggle. She wanted to move back into that safe corner behind her.

'Everybody out,' Miles yelled in frustration. Cursing at himself for upsetting Charlie. Scooping her up in his arms. Until he could hold her again and it was Bass that gave him a blanket. Bass placed the blanket around Charlie, his eyes on her, dark. A warm shield for her. To shield her.

'It's just you and me okay?' He felt the way he felt that day in the tunnels under a city a long time ago. His face coarse, his tears too close to cross the gate.

Rachel stepped into the room again. Bass grabbed her by her upper arm.

'Rachel, give Miles and Charlie some room, huh?' His voice was edgy and hard, when the friendship lost long ago between them prevented him from shoving her and everybody else the hell away.

This was not the Rachel Matheson show. Hell this was not about her, or him, or anybody else. This was about Charlie, caught in their bullshit. He moved her and Gene outside, where Connor was standing by their wagon. Drexel's men and the asshole himself eliminated.

He could not think about what happened there. Not yet.

'Fuck, can you give Charlie for once some room? Do you think you can do that Rachel? Can't you look over what you need yourself,' his voice now harsh, 'and look at what she needs?'

'I'm her mother.' Rachel spat out in fury.

'Then you'd better start acting as one.' His eyes were steal now.

It was his thing he knew about her. Something Charlie never asked directly. But he knew. They had asked for Ben. She walked to Philly instead. To the guy who was now holding Charlie inside of there. For which guy she had walked away from her family. And that from the woman who gave speeches about the right thing as her daily job. He was done. Could not care less if he overstepped anymore. He was done with her crap.

He did not want to look at her anymore. He walked past her. When Charlie was ready, he would be there. Right now, she needed where she needed to be.

With his brother.

Doc was ready at the wagon, as his kid looked at their group. He was standing in the hallway. Rachel looked with loathing from Connor to Bass who shook an angry no and her accusations he was sure she was already throwing at his kid. He walked passed her, not being able to stand still.

He walked back to the wagon. Start checking supplies as an old habit from years ago and anything water, food, more blankets, clothes, Charlie could need. Dusk was falling.

He pushed his lips together, shook his head. And then, he heard the sound.

And there, with the strip of horizon behind them, Miles walked up to them, with her wrapped in a blanket, her feet dangling from his arm, her side against Miles' chest, Miles with Charlie in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors Note Oh I am happy this chapter is out, I was writing towards this, and now I can have Charlie away from there. Between Miles and Bass, two men that care so much about her. She can go away, and they can help her recover, in more meaning of the word than one.
> 
> More about this story, and whatever happens to Drexel in next chapter. For now, Charlie is safe. With Miles, with Bass. This was about many things, maybe your recognise small bits from episodes I put in here. Connor's version of that moment near the train, the Charloe moment, with eyelocks from his perspective. I could explore that scene, where Bass in my opion came back to her, through his eyes in this story. He was always so observing. He must have seen and felt it too. Some lines I used. This was about Charlie. Miles.
> 
> This was about Bass telling Rachel he was done with her bullshit.
> 
> Charlie. She is all right now. They are there.
> 
> Bass stepped away so Miles could be her for her. But in next chapter, it will be her, giving room to him. To Bass.
> 
> Love from Love


	5. Face to face, heart to heart

Poppies and guilt,

Chapter Five- Face to Face, heart to heart

* * *

 

Bass was rumbling through his stuff, standing at the end of the wagon. Looking at Connor at the other side of camp. When he had left Charlie and Miles in the cellar, he had worked his way through the men, until he had reached the front balcony. And three men, and the big man Drexel himself, had found him.

The Mansion lay two days ahead, the things that it did to him not.

'Turn around and on your knees.'

Drexel's voice pulling him into the memory.

_Turn around._

_All right_

_Bass folded his hands behind his head, knees in the dirt. Rage for his fucking asshole, his muscles flexing in the lines of his cheeks because he knew this son of bitch was crazy enough to pull that trigger._

_'_ _Drexel, relax, we can talk about this.'_

_He heard Drexel behind him, and then the trigger._

_And then._

_Nothing._

_He pressed his teeth into his tongue before it touched his upper lip._

_'_ _You should see the look on your face,' Drexel spat out with a rough huff of amused air when he looked at Bass._

_'_ _Get up, get up.' He said in fake amicably tone, like he would also help him up, like his pathetic little kingdom belonged to him too._

_Bass stood up, turned around and his eyes, filled with steal and the promise and him locked at what was going on in the cellar, the promise of revenge for that moment, for Charlie, for his brother._

_Drexel's men with torches stood around them._

_Drexel moved back._

_'_ _Listen, daddy,' Bass clenched his fist, his face pumping with rage, as he looked to Connor and then back to Bass._

_'_ _Oh why so sad, Connor?' Drexel said with cold compassion in his eyes._

_'_ _What you haven't missed your dadyy? Oh I know, that's right. You are tiny bit afraid of what is going to happen when daddy finds out what happens if you know you were here the whole time.'_

_Connor looked from Drexel, almost helplessness, to his dad._

_'_ _I swear, I did not know...'_

_Drexel looked like he was having fun and the times of his life._

_Bass knew he was playing with them both, and he was going to deal with his. He hoped, the truth he saw in his kid's eyes was right. He ignored Drexel, knowing the asshole just wanted something to explode here. He would not get it from him._

_'_ _I love a good family tv show moment.' Drexel said with gleam in his eyes._

_The courtyard was almost dark, the sun behind the house setting, the shadow of the masnion bringing out the need for the torches the man were carrying. The board was set. The players here. In his house. He loved it when everything came together._

_'_ _I have some fun things organized for you. You know, to keep the kids happy.' He nodded at Connor behind him, without taking his eyes of him._

_'_ _I can imagine the thrill,' Bass spat out._

_One of his men stepped up with a box._

_'_ _Ah, look.'_

_'_ _Well, since Matheson is not here, and I have an itty bitty amount of troubles with that son of a bitch,' his voice that was oiled with sandy anger, 'You can do the honours.'_

_'_ _You know, since the two of you already were very fixed on the other, boys, boys boys...'_

_Bass took a step forward, ready to launch himself at the asshole, before he heard the clicks of guns around them. He was heaving with anger. The implications clear of what Drexel was implying._

_'_ _No?' Drexel said innocently, 'All right, just a thought, I always thought you boys were...' his tone of colour started to go a bit darker, 'well enough of that.' He waved it away with his hand. 'Want want to change the subject?'_

_Bass' cold steal found him._

_'_ _Maybe, and this is just out of the top of my head,' Drexel made a frivolous hand gesture, 'we can start with the fact how when Miles left your little kingdom, I got on the list of traitors, when I did nothing, but nothing than being loyal and provide you guys with all the nice heroin._

_Connor looked at him from the other side of the circle._

_'_ _Drexel...' Bass started._

_One of Drexel's men stumped him in the stomach. Bass spit out some salty acid spit before he looked at one of the men that dared touch him and shot him his you are dead looks._

_'_ _And well, for that little inconvenience I needed some payback. And you know what comes in handy when needing payback?' He moved his fingers to his chin, ' A little innocent niece. So precious, and innocent, and pure.'_

_Bass shot fire at him with his lips pressed together at mentioning her. He shoved one of Drexel's men away from him._

_'_ _Oh did I enjoy her. She is a fighter that little one. We needed a lot of the good stuff to make that happen.'_

_Bass flew to Drexel, and had his knife out in seconds, pressing it to his throat. His men were quicker, shoving guns in his direction. He moved his chin closer to the asshole's ear._

_'_ _You will fucking die for this Drexel, slowly. I will fucking break you for touching her.'_

_'_ _So, the rumours are true.' Drexel laughed. Miles was not the only one, who would come for her. He had known. Just like the little spies he had everywhere, Vegas, the Rangers, people who did anything for some cash these days, told him._

_'_ _Do you want to take a step back? I think we are a bit too close. Save that for Matheson.' Bass let go of him, his face sharp and his rage into his fingertips._

_'_ _Your weapons,' He nodded at Bass and Connor._

_'_ _House rules.' He said with a sharp edge in his eyes, his voice, his voice like he was ordering fish in a fine restaurant._

_'_ _Well, let's move forward to where we came for, shall we? The sooner this is over, the sooner I can go greet Miles and ask him how his niece is doing. Such a tragedy, that little girl.'_

_He stepped to the man holding his box._

_'_ _Well, since Miles is occupied with his niece, we can have some fun.'_

_Connor looked at his dad. At the rage, at the surrealistic feel of seeing his dad here._

_Two guns._

_Two men._

_One sickening arena of torches around them._

_'_ _You are going to shoot us?'_

_'_ _No, little guy,' he said as an answer to Connor._

_He walked to the box, opened it, and two guns lay, side to side, in it._

_'_ _You are going to shoot each other.'_

_Bass looked to Drexel. Son of a bitch. Here they were fucking again. Vegas._

_He looked to Connor. Connor looked to him._

_'_ _Rules are easy, the victory is well...staying alive. The guy who shoots the other guy, gets to walk away with his prize. His life.'_

_'_ _If I don't change my mind.' He said to himself, all of sudden content with all the possibilities._

_Drexel leaned lazily against an old not working jeep. As Connor and Bass took their guns from the box. Bass swallowed. Not fucking believing they were here again. Remembering clearly, all too clearly when his kid gave Neville a clean shot._

_He watched the change in Connor's eyes. And he felt how he felt, when he shot an old friend. The darkness, the rage, the pain, the insecurity, how Connor was manning up. He felt it. His mind was racing, his eyes narrowing. Knowing exactly where his men stood in this arena of craziness.._

_All of a sudden it pressed heavy against his chest. Pittman. Staypuft flask._

_He felt it. The undying love of a father, for his child. The build in natural mechanism of not ever being able to kill your kid. Second changes, third, fourth. It did not matter. No matter what lay ahead._

_Sebastian Monroe did never shoot his own kid. And never would._

_'_ _Dad!' Connor screamed as his eyes went wide._

_So he shot the gun. He moved his arm, to his chest. And shot the gun. He went down._

_He heard Drexel cheer._

_He went down. Closed his eyes._

_His heart beating fast._

_Fuck, that worked out._

_Miles and himself were never ones to not take a risk every now and then. But he really needed this one to work out. As he had hoped the flask would take his bullet. Drexel believing he would be dead. But he wasn't. And the son of bitch would pay for it now as Charlie's face a picture before him. He made a mental note to thank Pittman when he saw him again._

_He heard the rumour around him. Saw her at the back of his eyes._

_But when it got quiet, he used the thrill of his adrenaline to move, to open his eyes, pressed his face in one angry pissed line and lift his arm as he shot Drexel without a second thought._

_It became more quiet after that._

_The guy was shocking, twisting, against the jeep. Bass pushed himself up from the dirt. Walked up to the jeep. Grabbed him his shirt. Watched the guy squirm. He brought him to his eye level, his feet dangling over the dirt, holding Drexel up. He waited. Watched. And with one angry snap, a twist of the SOB's neck, he was never going to harm Charlie again. Or Miles._

And now Drexel was dead, as Miles had looked at his body and they threw in him in hole in the ground, covering the nastiness and awfulness and sick fun and games and things he did to Charlie, with dirt. Drexel was dead, Connor was here, as he did not know what would happen. They had gathered their shit, left the men of Drexel alive, as they were now free to go and they just needed, wanted to get out. Charlie as their first priority.

He had no fucking idea in hell where he stood with Connor, it did not matter in the light of her. He would never shoot his kid, but things between them, if they would ever mend again, had to find their way, like slow time and hoping, maybe a family could come back. Like Miles, like Charlie. Maybe.

His focus shifted from another day with death in this fucking blackout world to the forest with nightly sounds, the last birds singing somewhere in the branches.

Charlie did not wanted to move out of the wagon. So they stayed there with her. Rachel asleep near the fire, so was Gene. Connor sitting, drinking.

Miles had her wrapped in his arms. He did not want to let her arms go. Charlie. God, she was back with them. His back against the back of the wagon. Charlie huddled up, asleep. Warm, her face washed with some water they had boiled and let cool down a bit. Miles felt the dull never stopping pain of guilt. Of what she had to endure, of what she had to grow up in, of not making it Chicago, of missing the uncle she had to have by her side in all the freaking madness, the story of that man that dared to touch Charlie near the little basket of food.

Rachel told him about that, when the guy wanted their food and he had used a four year old Charlie as leverage. Sickening thoughts, when he looked at the girl as he knew the guilt would never leave, but the desire to be there for her would not leave either. Maggie had been right. Charlie had saved his ass. And for that, he would be there for her. End of story. She was a Matheson, she was family, his niece. But like Bass once said, wouldn't you do the same thing for Charlie? When he stayed and give a part of himself to Connor in Mexico. Bass had been right, he would.

Rachel helped, and he did not know what changed, but she was there, but not pushy. Letting him, Bass, take care of her.

Bass looked from Connor, as he put his bag down on the wagon. And then, he watched Charlie, Miles. And he climbed up on the wagon. As he sat next to Charlie. His brother's arm around her, now against his side too. Miles fingers around her hip, resting against his thigh. Miles looked at edge, Bass could taste the guilt, tired, his dark eyes filled with a constant brim of tears as he did not look up, his energy solely on Charlotte. He

He sat down next to them both, in a darkening forest. And them, a hand slipped out from the blanket. And then, her hand searched for his. He met her, Charlie asking for him, moving her slender fingers into his own.

The warmth and pressure of his fingers in his hand, before he gently moved his fingers around her hand. He did not give a fuck, he would sit here all fucking night, awake, watching over them, sleep or no sleep, with Miles, with her, with Charlie. Taking her through the night.

She was shaking, the first signs of the battle between her body craving the drugs and Charlie fighting it. She was strong, so fucking strong. She took it with stride, never uttering one word. Silent, stubborn. He had seen her like this before, and now he was here, with Miles.

_Three months later_

He watched Charlie, as he walked passed and she sat, looked ahead. Her face had more colour, she gained some weight. He watched her, She was eating. The detox of the drugs had been swift but painful. Ripping him the fuck apart when he watched her, heard the whispers from Gene to Rachel.

He had sat down next to her bed on those many days to recovery.

She was asleep, lost in sleep and dreams. She was shaking her head. He moved closer to her.

'Charlotte, you're okay. You are with us.'

She slowed down and then whit a last violent shake she woke up.

He was about to get a glass of water, when he heard her voice. He had expected her to ask for Miles.

But it shocked him, that she knew he was here and that she asked for him.  _Him._

'Bass?' Charlie asked, her voice raspy.

'Hey, look who's awake.' He said smoothly, not wanting to disturb her, keep her grounded.

'Don't go, Bass.'

It was the first time she asked him anything. And he would not be anywhere but here with her. Fucking tearing at him with a warm unlike him to feel this happy state, as the guy he had once been for his sisters moved back into the room.

'Hey, somebody has to watch Mini Miles, right? You Matheson's just can't do without me.' It was a soft voiced joke. She smirked. His heart bled for her, swelled with this woman.

And then he was done with the joking. He moved over to her side, his strong thigh now close to her, as Charlie felt him there.

The last months had been hard. Flakes of memories.

Miles carrying her outside.

Warm hands keeping her safe. Warm.

Clean, fresh smelling clothes.

A night in a strangely feeling forest, where her teeth would crash together. Where Miles had held her in his nook. Where she knew it had been Bass who sat down, the wagon creeking and moving with his weight. Her hand moving in space, him catching her with large calloused hand.

Sleeping. Eating. Trembling. Throwing up. Waiting.

Going home.

Learning, wanting to know what happened to Drexel. Feeling tore apart when she badgered Miles to tell her what happened to Bass and Connor.

Long days in the house.

First in her bed. Zooming out to the room. Room turning into the house. The porch. Finding more solid land to stand on.

And somewhere in this past months, she found herself again on two roads, where the guilt filled Charlie met fighting Charlie, realising they were the same. And they could walk on in strength again.

And now. She wanted Bass here. As he had been there, but now, she wanted him there, against her, his warm steady whiskey leather jacket close.

He stroked her hair. He muttered slow sweet things in her hair. He moved through her hair as he held her, loosely, and Charlie slowy molded to his body.

They waited. For her.

Long days got filled with small town life. With being there on the edge for her, for what she would allow.

And then, on a summer day, just after a rain downpour, that washed the dust away, Charlie came walking to them.

Of the porch, of the land of guilt and waiting.

She looked around her. Saw Bass, Miles. Her mother in the kitchen.

When she heard her own voice, it was like the last part of her old self that returned.

'I want to train.'

Bass caught the tears pushed back in Miles' eyes.

Miles nodded.

And there in the light of summer, Charlie walked up to Miles, as Bass watched them. Giving his brother a nod, sitting down on rock, as Charlie's hair lightened up in the sun.

A Tuesday, autumn

'You guys want to have some tea? Or are we going to get on that rod?' A nod, blue eyes catching his.

And then, the start of a smile.

Smile with playful lips.

And her hand on the counter, was close to his.

Another day, another assignment from Blanchard.

He did not look away from Charlie, his eyes soft, his grin around his lips, his face beaming towards her, as he realised Charlie allowed him to reach her.

'Well, buddy, you've heard the lady over here. Let's get going.' He looked at her, kept looking at her.

'Oh I am definitely too old for this crap,' Miles said, as he trudged out of the room to grab his shit.

'Glad you are here, Bass.' She leaned into the kitchen counter.

She smiled at him, her tanned face warmer, in a smile both him and Miles were afraid they would never see. As always, their girl proved them wrong.

Then she turned, but before she moved on to get her own stuff, she placed a hand on his chest.

'Thanks for coming back for me, Bass.'

'Don't you ever not come back to me.'

He said lowly, his voice warming her like a candle she remembered once on a cold Christmas night, a light in a long dark night.

She nodded.

'I promise.'

He wanted to kiss her, but he wanted to leave her room.

They locked eyes. Maybe it was even more powerful.

He moved out his arm, gently reaching for her. She did not flinch. She did not move back. He, could touch her and damn, it tore right through him. He touched her cheek. A slow loving line with his thumb.

That slow loving line of his inger along her jaw moved into a soft kiss as she leaned in. It would move into thrust, more thrust because the foundation of that was build in the years ahead. It would turn into that chemistry, passion, the first lovemaking. In a lot of firsts, in a lot that stayed the same.

Eyes locking.

Every fight, every time they came back for each other.

Forgiveness.

The start of love, something true.

Friendship.

Companionship.

Along with her, with him.

His strength, her strength.

A warm slender hand on a wide hard chest.

There.

In that kitchen.

When everything was packed. They moved out of the house.

Miles Matheson.

Sebastian Monroe.

And Charlie Matheson.

Whit all the things they had to carry with them, poppies in the field of their sadness.

But with things to fight them too.

Tonight she would fall asleep against Bass' back, her uncle close. She would fight with them, and don't want anyone else to fight with.

It lay in blue eyes, and darker eyes. In sarcasm, and brotherhood, and a soft woman's touch.

The kitchen now empty.

The porch door closed, with a small touch of wood against wood.

Two friend, and a strong stubborn woman in between them. The older brother on her left, the younger on her right, right behind her, next to her, her frame embraced by them, the younger man side by side with her, face to face, heart by heart as her shoulder was close to his chest, and his chest and shoulder were there, behind her.

The End

 _Authors Note_ Thank you for reading everybody! In the Revo world, hard things can happen, and this story was maybe more dark than you are used to, reading from me. But I wanted to write it, the scenes for so long in my head. The story was also about family, about what is valuable in that dark. I hoped you enjoyed it. I will work on other sotires, a couple of shorter ones, with passion and chemstry and a lot of fun. Hope to see you there, Love from Love


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